


My Soul to Keep

by Insignem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Cas, Grace - Freeform, M/M, Souls, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insignem/pseuds/Insignem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew that Dean's naked soul could have such an... <i>effect</i> on Castiel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Supernatural fic! I've become completely hooked this summer and it's time I attempted to write something.
> 
> I haven't read a great deal of SPN/Destiel fic, so I'm sorry if this seems unoriginal or has been done before!
> 
> I know the title is technically from an old bedtime prayer, but I had in mind the song [Missy](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2oeDqQCiSs) by the unparalleled The Airborne Toxic Event when I chose it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! It's not going to be terribly long, I don't think. Maybe a couple more chapters after this short intro. Con-crit and feedback is much appreciated! Thank you :)

They are all but ready to complete the ritual to return the angels to Heaven and restore the grace of the fallen when Castiel stops to tell him one more time, “You don't have to do this, Dean.”

“Cas, we went over this already,” he grits out. “Draw the sigils.”

“Dean, it's too dangerous. We can't even be certain that it will work.”

“ _It's going to work_ , Cas, okay, and then it won't matter that it was dangerous because you'll be all angeled-up again and you'll be able to heal me, good as new. Got it?”

Cas is still frowning, and he shares a plaintive glance with Sam, who looks similarly torn. “Dean, you don't have to do this.” Cas says again. “It doesn't have to-”

Dean cuts him off. “It has to be me, Cas. The soul of a human that bears the mark of contact with an angel's grace. I fit the bill. I'm the link that completes the bridge from the fallen on earth to their home in heaven. _Just draw the sigils_.”

“Dean.” Cas' voice is harsh and raw around his name, but it's a plea, not a reproach. “Why should you do this for us? My brethren have never been kind to you, have only made your life harder, and yet here you are ready to risk everything to give us back our home.”

The corner of Dean's mouth twitches. He reaches out a hand and places it on his best friend's shoulder, grips it gently. “Exactly, Cas. They're your brethren. I'm not doing this for them, but I _am_ doing it for you. End of story.”

He doesn't care what he's risking, because it's all worth it if that soft, if slightly disbelieving, smile can stay on Cas' face. A surge of affection rushes through him, and he flashes a quick grin at Sammy to hide the emotion bubbling up inside him. God, he's getting soft.

Sam gives him a worried half-smile in return, and passes him the angel blade they've spent months searching for. Dean shifts it from hand to hand, feeling the heft of it. He then raises it slowly and slices his forearm, parallel to all the other thin white scars that mark the skin there. It burns against his flesh as he recites the Enochian Castiel taught him. “ _Blood of a human, marked by an angel_.”

He hands the blade to Cas, who makes an identical cut, reciting, “ _Blood of the fallen, bound to the earth_.”

The grip each other's forearms, mingling their blood together. Dean looks straight into Cas' eyes and shows him the resolve in his own, projecting his commitment to their plan. Castiel meets his gaze squarely and nods at last. He coats his fingers in their combined blood and draws, careful and precise, a small sigil upon the raised, red flesh of his handprint on Dean's shoulder. Dean watches as he draws its mirror on his own palm. Cas raises this hand, starts chanting, and Dean can only catch fragments of the Enochian now, words he recognizes for _soul_ and _grace_ and _home_.

The sigil against his scar is tingling with ever-increasing intensity until it develops into a full-on burning, searing into his skin. Both marks are starting to glow, that familiar, white-hot brilliance that only an angel can produce, and Dean sees Sam turn around, covering his eyes. Dean stares at his shoulder - it looks as though the light is pouring out of him, blazing forth from inside along the lines of the sigil - before he is forced to shut his eyes against the radiant brightness.

Castiel's chanting reaches a crescendo, and suddenly his hand is pressed to Dean's scar, fingers finding the exact pattern they'd once etched into Dean's skin, and Dean can feel the exact moment the twin sigils come into contact with each other because his world suddenly shatters into nothing but pure, blinding white.

That's all he knows until at last, there is nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean deals with the fallout of the ritual to restore the fallen angels to Heaven.

But nothingness never seems to last forever; not for Dean. The world fades slowly back in, and he sees Cas and Sam standing with their backs to him, looking at something. They're murmuring in low voices, but Dean catches Cas say, “I don't understand. His body is fully healed.”

“Cas!” He says, trying to sit up. “Cas, you got your mojo back? That's great, man.”

Neither of them turn around. It's strange, but he's woozy enough right now that maybe he just didn't quite get the words out. Everything's a bit disconnected. It hits him that he can't actually feel anything, and he panics suddenly, as he tries to wiggle his fingers. But there's nothing. _Breathe_ , he tells himself. _Breathe._ Except he can't, and he starts to yell, screaming the throat he doesn't have raw on Cas' and Sam's names.

His silent screams must get through to them somehow, because the two of them whirl around suddenly, and Dean sees what they were looking at. It's him. His own body. He's sprawled out on the ground and he's breathing, the bastard, because Dean sure as hell isn't. 

He stares in horror at his brother, whose face is painted with shock, and the angel – for that's what he is again – who is staring right back with his mouth gaping open and his face a brilliant crimson. 

“The ritual,” He croaks out, his voice gritting over even more gravel than usual. “The blast must have knocked Dean's soul clean from his body.” And then he flees, vanishing with that familiar (and, Dean can almost admit, long-missed) flutter of wings. 

Sam is walking cautiously towards him, stepping away from where Dean's body still lies on the ground. “ _Dean?_ ” he asks, worry and relief filling his tone in equal measure.

Dean wants to nod, or shrug, but he _can't_ ,so he thinks “Yeah Sammy, it's me,” as hard as he can and is gratified to see the tense hold of Sam's shoulders relax. 

“Dean, you're- you're _glowing_ ,” he says, and Dean now it sounds a hell of a lot like awe in his voice.

“Yeah, I get it, I'm a big shining ball of light, fantastic,” Dean grumbles at Sam in his head.

Sam seems to hear him, because he gives a short laugh. “Still you. Hey, at least you're kind of pretty now.”

Dean'd give anything to be able to glare at his brother right now. “Shut up.” Sam's answering eye-roll is further confirmation that apparently, he can communicate if he just directs his thoughts. Good. He's also not floating around aimlessly now that his brain has figured out that there is no longer a body to send signals, he finds, as he works on controlling this new form.

“So what, Cas gets his mojo back and bails?” Dean asks, as he heads himself towards the body strewn out behind Sam. He's there in a flash, and his disgruntlement is tempered by the sudden discovery that he can in fact zip around quite quickly. It's kind of awesome. He darts around Sam a couple of times, amused as his brother spins quickly, trying to keep him in sight. 

“Yeah, looks like it,” Sam tells him, giving up. “Getting the hang of it, are you?” 

Dean's nod and answering grin seem to translate into a brief pulse of light, but Sam appears to get the meaning. 

“I'm sure Cas went to find the other angels. See if they have their powers back as well. And he's probably finding out a way to put you back as we speak.”

Dean pulses a bit as he nods again. “Yeah, no, you're right. I can't be mad at the guy. And it's great that the ritual worked, but I'd really rather not be stuck as bodiless-soul, if you catch my _drift_ ,” he adds, with a smooth glide past Sam. 

“Already with the puns! Oh god,” Sam laughs, throwing his hands up. “Well maybe just try sliding right back in? If you're not enjoying yourself too much, that is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mutters, floating over his body and looking down at it. He can see the gentle rise and fall of its chest, and its heart is pumping, slow but steady. It's like looking at a coma patient. At least most of his senses seem to be intact in this form – he can see and hear, for certain - but as he tries to settle himself over his own chest and sink into it, he finds that he simply slips right through without feeling a thing. He tries his head next, then attempts to slide in through his body's lolling mouth. But nothing happens, and there's no physical sensation, no matter what he comes in contact with. 

“Hey Sam, come here, touch me, will you?” Sam raises an eyebrow, smirking, as Dean vibrates a little in annoyance, but he obliges and reaches out. His fingers pass straight through Dean's glow.

“Huh,” Sam says. “Tingly.” 

“This is beautiful, man. You are touching my very soul,” Dean says, his voice thick with feigned emotion. 

Sam's eyes widen. “Really?”

Dean scoffs and nudges against Sam's shoulder. “No, dude. I can't feel that a thing.” 

Sam rolls his eyes again and shrugs. “I guess I'll go look into the lore, then. There's got to be a way to return a soul to it's body, and if it's recorded anywhere, then they'd have it here,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards the bunker. He already appears dreamily lost in the thought of all the research ahead.

“Dude, you just going to leave me out here? At least bring my meat inside!”

Sam jumps guiltily and then shoots Dean a glare as he hauls the body's unconscious deadweight onto his shoulder.

Dean had been on the verge of laughing, but he sobers up as he watches what might as well be his corpse flop around against Sam's back. It won't be so funny if he's stuck like this for good.

He sighs and looks back at the spot Cas had disappeared from. “Come on, buddy. Where are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheee this is fun! Concrit much appreciated :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr here! http://insignem.tumblr.com


End file.
